


Love, Fears and Bouillabaisse

by TheDevilWearsMiuMiu



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24025114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDevilWearsMiuMiu/pseuds/TheDevilWearsMiuMiu
Summary: Miranda and Andrea are quarantining at their holiday home in Nantucket with family but also very worried about one of their own. This story features quite a bit of virus angst, so if that triggers you, please don't read - I don't want to cause anyone more anxiety at this difficult time! Writing this story was a way of channeling my own angst but there is plenty of fluff and sweetness and a guaranteed happy ending! Somebody contracts the virus but gets well again in the end and there is NO character death.It's a story that is a bit sad perhaps but also very loving and sweet. I dedicate it to all the brave & hard-working frontline workers out there. Thank you, merci, grazie, gracias, dankeschön - you're in my thoughts.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	Love, Fears and Bouillabaisse

She prowls along the French doors like a tigress that has been locked in. Which, in many ways, she has. “If she dies, I will destroy him. I will find every single piece of dirt, of which there are thousands, and I will not stop until he has been brought to justice. I will drag him to every court, local, national and international - I will take him to The Hague and I will make sure he pays for every single crime that he has ever committed, big and small.”

I exchange a helpless glance with Cassidy. In the end, that is what we all are – deeply angry, profoundly anxious and completely helpless. It is not that Cassidy and I would not want to destroy him, too. But we are resigned to the fact that there could never be a revenge strong enough to make our world right again, should the worst of the worst happen. 

I hold my hand out to Cassidy and she takes it, attempting a small smile. Meanwhile, Clementine reaches for my left. Her fingers tremble and for a second, I do not know what I could possibly do to get them to stop.

Miranda’s aquamarine eyes are wild with fear and sprinkled with the vicious anger of a mother scared to death for her child. I’m thinking that we should all get it together before Caroline’s girlfriend Sylvie comes back in. The sun has descended and it has gotten a bit damp outside. The light of the day has receded, along with Miranda’s marginal enjoyment of watercolors and Clementine’s meticulously prepared red velvet cupcakes. Another walk perhaps, despite the cold air and rapidly darkening island.

The sliding doors of the sunroom open and Miranda looks down at the marble floor. I can feel her rail in her anger, stop her preparation for battle and stroke back her hair with an outer calmness that belies her boiling emotions. The room starts to smell like a seafood restaurant on the Riviera and Cassidy at least seems to draw some strength from the fact. Considering the circumstances, that is good enough for me – and for Miranda, her eyes tell me when she finally looks up and meets mine.

Sylvie, her sister Alizée and Henry enter, quickly and expediently turning the empty table into a beautiful countryside feast of colorfully painted bowls, fresh bread with butter and herbs, Sauvignon Blanc, orange juice and a large serving dish filled with fresh hot bouillabaisse. 

Miranda takes a seat on the other side of Clementine, puts an arm around her and lets her cuddle into her side. “It is unlikely to be necessary,” she whispers, referring to her earlier threats. “The facts are on our side. Caroline is young, healthy and for the large majority of people, this virus is not a danger to their lives.”

However, she knows as well as I do that we cannot be 100% sure. If we assess the risk, realistically there is much in Caroline’s favor, but there are always exceptions to the rule. Young people have at times died, which is why Miranda keeps falling back into states of panic and terror, as do the rest of us. The one thing that is decidedly not in Caroline’s favor is her job on the frontline.

I know that Miranda would like nothing more than to run into Presbyterian and literally carry her out of there. But she has had to accept, as did we all, that this is Caroline’s profession and calling, that it is the place where she wishes to remain and that she is equipped to save lives that may otherwise be lost.

So here we are, in our holiday home in Nantucket, to which we have reluctantly decamped. Leaving one of our own on the New York City trenches has truly been one of the hardest challenges of Miranda’s and my lives. But ultimately, it was Caroline who insisted. Sweet Caroline, who has told us that it is her duty and her choice to treat those who are sick with the virus but that she wants for all of us to be where we are safest from contracting the virus ourselves.

With the stubbornness and strength that she has inherited from her mother, she was likewise determined that her girlfriend should join us here rather than expose herself to the disease in their shared apartment. Because while for most of us, infection is a question, a fear and a possibility, treating dozens of coronavirus patients without proper protection each day, infection for Caroline is a certainty.

Miranda has, without a second thought extended the invitation to Alizée, who has no family other than Sylvie in New York.

“T’as parlé à Caroline?” Miranda asks Sylvie above Clementine’s chestnut head. Sylvie shakes her head, “Non, mais elle a promis d’appeler plus tard ce soir.” No, but she has promised to call later this evening. Miranda nods, somewhat pacified for the time being. 

She doesn’t have to say that she would appreciate it if Sylvie kept her updated and I know that Sylvie would recount everythin unprompted, anyhow. She is grateful to have been offered a home away from home, people to care for and ready to care for her in return during this terrible quarantine that for many people is so lonely.

It certainly is for Caroline. Caroline who has chosen to make it even more lonely for herself, who unlike most of us during this time comes face to face with dozens of people each day. Caroline, who sees the sick people we are told about on TV, who cares for them while they are alone and often lonely themselves, who is close by when some of them die. Caroline, whose makeup-free face shows angry red marks and dark circles underneath her eyes when she calls.

But it would not do to cry now. Clementine is only 16-years-old, old enough to understand perfectly but too young to be going through a pandemic really, and Miranda has only just managed to pull herself together.

She’s beautiful even in her sadness and justified anger, and I know we share an ever-growing tearful pride in Caroline and all that she accomplishes each day while we take guilty walks on the beach, prepare dinner or watch Sylvie, Alizée and Henry cook. As we watch Netflix on the big TV in the den, teach Clementine subjects of our respective expertise – today it was Henry’s turn; he explained the stock market – and complete remote work. As Cassidy madly sews costumes for productions that may never see the light of day and Clem tells us that French class with Sylvie and Alizée is way more fun than the one she takes at school.

The smell is heavenly and it mingles with the sadness that envelops us. “Merci d’avoir preparé ce merveilleux repas,” Miranda says, a small smile stealing itself onto her face. Her gratitude is real. Sylvie knows that bouillabaisse is Miranda’s favorite and Miranda knows that Sylvie prepared it for that reason alone. Alizée’s face lights up with a big smile in return. “No trouble at all, Miranda. You’ve been spoiling us as well,” she winks at that.

And Miranda has indeed, but having two French people around with whom she can converse and whose heritage allows them to easily comprehend the je ne sais quoi that is, in Miranda’s mind, at the core of every successful design, ball gown or fashion shoot, has certainly been a great source of joy to her. Even if Sylvie and Alizée may not quite comprehend what it is that makes Miranda so happy for their company – one rarely thinks about one’s own culture in such a way after all – they do understand affection.

They are not a curiosity to her but a breath of fresh air, the epitome of unconscious and innate elegance, and a slice of the Paris that she loves so much. When Caroline first started dating Sylvie three years ago, Miranda was almost more elated than Caro. Funny girl, I think, though she would scoff at the idea of being referred to as a girl.

“And thank you Henry, of course, for feeding us more of your marvelous homemade bread.” Emily would faint if she were here and had just listened to that sentence coming out of Miranda’s lipstick bare mouth. “My pleasure,” he assures her, and while he cannot offer Miranda the joys of French conversation or luscious soup that tastes like summers spent in Provence, she seems content with him all the same. Cassidy is blissful and they are here with us sharing days, uncertainties and meals, which is all that truly matters in the end.

Clementine finally leaves her hiding place on Miranda’s shoulder and I cannot stop myself from reaching out and patting her cheek. She is probably too old for that but I cannot find it in myself to care, and today she doesn’t complain either.

The meal is wonderfully scrumptious, I delight in the flavors of tomatoes and saffron, mussels and thyme. Miranda’s cheeks redden from the heat of the soup and the unexpected culinary delight.

Clementine speaks of having a picnic at the beach for lunch tomorrow; Cassidy, her chin still smeared with paint from her earlier artistic activities, believes that we should all watch the Met’s online broadcast of Turandot later this evening, that “Clem would profit from it educationally and might yet live out Miranda’s unfulfilled dream of becoming an opera singer.” She sticks out her tongue at her sister as if she’s 13 years old, Clementine mirrors the gesture and we all laugh.

It is the 21st day since any of us have seen Caroline and it is as though Miranda has known all along. Subconsciously she must have felt it, it was a sentiment that pervaded her blood and bones. The mother tigress inside of her knew that today was going to be the day that her baby would fall sick with the virus. 

“Just mild symptoms,” Caroline says on the video call. “A cough and a bit of nausea, no fever.” Miranda blanches nonetheless, our nails digging into each other’s palms, creating red half-moons that will probably still be there the day after tomorrow. Cassidy and Clementine brush tears out of the corners of their eyes; Henry’s arm curls around Caroline’s back; Sylvie clutches her MacBook Air like she wants to move through it, turn it into the portal that will allow her to arrive back home by Caroline’s side. All of us do.

Miranda asks all the right questions. Do you have enough food in your apartment? Do you need medicine, a thermometer, tea bags, orange or ginger juice? Should we have anything delivered? Who will you call if you cannot breathe? 

Caroline answers with a calmness that is her very own, a serenity in the face of thunderstorms that neither Miranda nor I have ever quite mastered.

“I love you all,” she says. We love you too.

“Don’t worry, at my age it’s highly likely that the symptoms will remain mild.” We cannot do anything but worry, sorry dear.

“I know what to look for, I won’t take any risks.”

After Caroline says goodbye, resting against the headboard of their shared bed, promising to rest and go to sleep right away, Sylvie starts to cry. Henry hugs Cassidy as the screen goes black. I put both arms around Miranda, bury her soft white hair beneath the long strands of mine as we breathe each other in. There’s lavender, black tea and the lingering smell of bouillabaisse soup.

Alizée sweetly hugs Clementine as Sylvie is frantically searching for tissues; and I can’t help but think that this is it. This is what it feels like when reality upends itself and catastrophe hits.

Miranda, however, is not quiet for long. She is spurred into action, diving across the living room for her phone. She scrolls through her contacts frantically, pointer finger tipping against her own chin in urgent thought. But she finds what she wants eventually, what she needs. “Yes,” she murmurs distractedly. “Yes, this could work.”

“Hello, Taylor,” I hear her say. “I am terribly sorry to bother you at this incredibly stressful time but you have offered before and … and this truly is an emergency. To be quite honest with you, I did not know who else to call.”

The person on the other end responds and Miranda nods absent-mindedly. “Hmm,” is all she says. Taylor Schilling? I think. Taylor, the stylist at Runway? Taylor, Cassidy’s childhood friend?

But no, it’s Taylor Swift and Miranda is arranging to borrow her private jet. I feel torn. On the one hand, I want to rush to Caroline’s side just as much as Miranda does. But on the other, Caroline has made her wishes clear and surely they should be respected? 

“I will call Teterboro myself, it is not a problem at all. I am just so glad that you are close by and willing to lend me your airplane.”

…

“Yes, but truly, it is not a small thing at all. I am very grateful.”

…

“Yes, family is what is most important in this world, we are of like minds. I truly appreciate having a friend like yourself in these trying times. You are very kind.”

Miranda seems determined. I shudder at the thought of Caroline all by herself in her apartment. There would be nobody to help her if she struggled to breathe, nobody to notice if she passed out…

I feel that I should be the one to go because while Miranda clearly wants nothing more than to take care of her grown-up baby in her time of need, despite her ever-regal bearing and sheer endless sexiness, her age puts her squarely in the risk group. I could never have loved a younger woman the way I love her, but in these difficult times I do worry about what this means for us and am scared to the very core of my being at the possibility of losing her way too early.

Miranda has said goodbye to kind lovely Taylor who is probably readying her jet as we speak, and has moved on to frantically searching the internet for Teterboro’s number. “Miranda,” I say gently. She looks up at me, eyes as wild as they were before, mouth forming a perpetual silent O. “I’ll go. Please let me.”

I can see she that wants to protest but her lips aren’t moving. It is not an unequivocal no but it is not a yes either. I watch Cassidy silently confer with Henry and instantly know she shares my concerns.

“Mommy,” she says finally and catches Miranda’s attention instantly with that one word. She hasn’t called her mommy for a very long time. It has been mom for many years. I think the first week of her first real job after college, when she felt that she was failing, didn’t fit in and was scared to death that she could never do a fraction of what it was that her mother and sister did in her opinion, was the last time.

“Mommy, I’ll go.” Miranda takes a couple of deep breaths, slowly, deliberately. And I know that there is no way that she will deny Cassidy her wish. She would take any sickness onto herself if it meant that her daughters wouldn’t have to, but this is her honoring Caroline and Cassidy’s unique and life-long bond. As a mother, she has loved each unconditionally but she has never gotten between them and she will not start now.

It seems decided until Sylvie walks over to where Cassidy and Henry sit with their backs against the settee and kneels down next to them. “Cassidy,” Sylvie says and just like that, she too surrenders. My daughter nods decisively, taking Sylvie’s hand in hers and conferring onto her all her own strength and love for Caroline.

Miranda lets her body slide to the floor and leans her back against our book shelf, crying.

“We don’t need the jet,” Cassidy mouths at me and proceeds to pull Henry and Sylvie up from the ground. She crosses the room decisively, kisses her mother’s tear-stained cheek and motions for Henry and Sylvie to follow her out.

I cradle Miranda’s head on my lap for a long time. I watch Alizée promise Clementine to make her chocolat chaud like they do at the Louvre, with real melted chocolate and plenty of cream if she wants it. I watch Clementine eye Miranda and myself with suspicion but ultimately let herself be led into the kitchen by Alizée. 

“Honey,” I say. “I’m just as scared but I know they can make it. They are strong girls and their affection for one another will see them through.”

“The ineptest person in the history of ineptitude,” Miranda whispers with a mixture of hoarse brokenness and boiling venom. “If she… I will destroy him so thoroughly, he’ll have to make his living waiting tables or picking up trash. Then he’ll see just what it is he demands of other people, that spoilt little brat who is unable to do even the bare fucking minimum of what his fucking job entails, of meeting his fucking responsibility to the citizens of this country.”

It is probably beyond even her power to accomplish such a feat but I would not put it past her entirely. Hell hath no fury like a mother fighting for her child.

We ease into a long silence punctuated only by the quiet I love yous I kiss onto her soft fragrant hair. “Couldn’t she have become a costume designer like Cassidy or an editor like myself?” she finally complains, weakly. “There is no mortal danger in that at least.”

The fact is that Caroline’s choice of profession seemed like both a safe and an honorable one to Miranda at the time. Honorable and safe in a monetary sense it remains during this crisis, but it is no longer physically so. Miranda and myself, our whole family, now has to deal with surreal circumstances that nobody could have imagined only half a year ago. 

Like many other people, our daughter has turned from a healthy girl walking from her Manhattan apartment to Presbyterian each day into a frontline worker, fighting against a potentially lethal virus from the trenches.

By now, Cassidy and Henry must be making headway on their mission of driving Sylvie back to New York. Miranda never did call Teterboro in the end but there is one more task for me to complete.

“They’re driving down to New York you know,” I tell Miranda softly. “Mhhh. I gathered as much.”

“It’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Cassidy and Henry are driving, they can take turns and sleep at the town house before making their way back tomorrow.” “Mhh.”

“I’ll text Taylor, if that is okay with you?” “Mhh. Do tell her I am sorry for all the havoc that I have caused.”

Hi Taylor! This is Andrea.

Hi Andy! How r u? Prepping the jet as we speak.

Yeah, about that. I’m really sorry but we have managed to convince Miranda that it would be best for her to stay here after all. Cassidy and her boyfriend are driving Caroline’s girlfriend down to NYC so she can take care of her.

Oh okay. I’m glad you’ve figured things out and it’s all sorted. I’m here if you need anything though. Call or text anytime, I mean it!!

Thank you soo much, Taylor! <3 We really appreciate your help, all of us do. Miranda was maybe getting ahead of herself a little there but you know she’s nothing if not a woman of action ;-) And I love her for it :)

Aww you two are #couplegoals!! <3 <3 As I said, call if u need anything at all. Hope Caroline will get better soon!!

Thanks :) All the best to you & ur family!!

Thank you so much <3 

As we lay in bed later that night, limbs entwined and shivering despite the blanket and our shared body heat, our cell phones chime in tandem. I think of Cassidy, Henry and Sylvie and of how far they might have already gotten. Miranda turns her head and snatches her cell phone from its resting place on her nightstand with an agile hand. I peer across her shoulder at the screen.

To our surprise, it isn’t Sylvie or Cassidy, it’s Clementine who has posted a video in the family group chat. Miranda’s thumb instantly hits play.

Clem is standing in the downstairs kitchen, her dark hair wild, eyes tender.

“Where it began, I can’t begin to knowing,” she sings with a vibrant voice that belies both her age and relative inexperience. 

“But then I know it’s growing strong. Was in the spring, and spring became the summer. Who’d have believed you’d come along? Hands, touching hands; reaching out, touching me, touching you…”

My thumb traces a tear down Miranda’s cheek.

“Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good. I’ve been inclined to believe they never would…” Clementine sings, hot chocolate in hand, hitting note after note.

“Aww Clem, you’re the cutest!! <3 <3” Caroline writes in the chat. “Thank u soo much, ur voice is amazing!! :O”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Caroline?” Miranda chides.

“I just woke up and had some tea & toast. Don’t worry, Mommy! <3 <3”

“Alright, please call if you need anything!!”

“I will :) Good night, Mommy, Mama & Clem!!”

“Sweet Caroline,” Miranda murmurs. “Too sweet for her own good, perhaps.”

“That was a lovely thing for Clementine to do though,” I say.

“Certainly. We may not have provided her with the comfort she needed tonight…”

“Shh. It’s alright, I think Alizée did, and we’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“That we will, that we will. Caroline certainly did not get her selflessness from me…”

I can feel her settling in. She might be a difficult boss but to family and friends, she is the kindest and most generous person of all, and Caroline’s warmth and determination has not blossomed without the influence and example of the woman in my arms. 

Two weeks have passed when Sylvie zooms in to tell us that Caroline is on the mend, nothing but a very light cough and some tiredness remain. Caroline’s pale freckled face comes into view and Miranda and I just grin back at her goofily. I am a goofy person all the time but Miranda usually is not. 

“Are the two of you staying well?” she asks. “Very,” Miranda responds. The relief and joy in her eyes reflects in my computer screen. Beneath the dining room table, I put my right hand on her left knee. “I know you cannot wait to get back and help more people but Caroline, please make sure you rest up properly before you do,” she smiles indulgently and our daughter assures us that she will. 

“Thanks for the truffle oil pizza you guys sent! I was finally up for something a bit more adventurous and it was truly delicious!” “I can only concur,” Sylvie chimes in. “I’m glad you girls had a nice meal. Don’t forget to call. Go get them, Dr. Priestly!”

For Miranda that is an unusual choice of words but it is fitting. She closes my laptop with a thud and presses her mouth against mine.

**Author's Note:**

> For how I imagine Clementine singing "Sweet Caroline" watch https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEQQtgIZbiQ :)


End file.
